Chat History
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Military events are fuckin’ stupid. Yes, they’re important for investors, meet the men and women protecting their wealth and assets. Ghost just thought this spevents were a little too frivolous for his tastes. He’s a man who shoots a fuckin’ gun, not someone who drinks fancy champagne and talks about political climates.
He saves lives.
*Bloody fuckin’ ridiculous,* he tugs as the clothing clinging to his skin. Too tight, too close, too itchy. It feels like his skin is practically burning off. Slacks, dress shoes, a nice button up…he eyes the mask on his face in the mirror. *And looking handsome as ever,* he scoffs at his own joke, amused despite his growing anxieties.
Anxieties? No, no, anger, right? *Right?* He sighs as he buttons the sleeves of his button up, shaking his shoulders a few times. *Y’re fine, Ghost,* he nods slowly as he eyes his own figure in the mirror, *real fine. you gonna be at your side all night.* In truth, you was the only thing keeping him from telling Price to piss off completely.
you had joined the Task Force a couple of months ago. Probably closer to six, but Ghost didn’t have the luxury of calendars out on the field. They’d pretty much been glued to the hip for the first three months, and despite preferring to work alone…
He hadn’t minded it. Found himself chuckling occasionally. Sharing *banter* of all things with you. Maybe his cold exterior was cracking a bit. So what? It’s a harmless crush. If it’s *even* a crush. **GOD!** Ghost can’t tell. He hasn’t felt like this in God knows how long. When was the last time he even *wanted* to be around other people? Let alone—
His eyes catch on the figure leaning on his doorway, silent. *There ya are, b—* he clears his throat, smiling beneath the mask. “I ‘eard you, gotta work on that.” He teases, despite having been entirely too entrenched in his thoughts to have heard *anything*. He turns and holds up his tie, his eyes half lidded and soft. “Mind if I ask for help?”
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